Editor’s Note: This article was originally published on Sept. 13, 2014.
After getting shot up in Las Vegas on the night of Sept. 7, 1996, hip-hop icon Tupac Shakur joined the ancestors six days later, Sept. 13, at 4:03 p.m. On the 18th anniversary of his transition, local activists reflected on his New York City history.
“When I lived in Bed-Stuy, they often would come to my house … this is before he became famous, he was like 13 to 14,” recalled Charles Barron. The newly elected state assemblyman explained that he and Pac’s mother, Afeni, met during the early 1980s as Black Panther activists. “Tupac always had eyes that would tell a story, he was a genius—intelligent and sharp. He wrote me a poem called ‘Stormy Weather.’ He was a very sensitive and rather shy, young man.”
Born June 16, 1971, in East Harlem, Shakur went on to reside at various Bronx and Harlem locations throughout his childhood. He was enrolled in the 127th Street Repertory Ensemble at age 12, taking on his first major role with the accomplished acting troupe in a 1984 production of “A Raisin in the Sun” at the Apollo Theater. He and his family eventually relocated to Baltimore, Md., in 1986.
“Tupac had a certain Harlem swagger, a certain spirit that would definitely see him in a position of power,” assessed founding member of the legendary Last Poets, Abiodun Oyewole, as he recalled fond moments they shard while filming 1993’s “Poetic Justice.”
“My son and I happened to be driving in Harlem one day, and Tupac was crossing the street at St. Nick and 126th Street … my son noticed him before I did. I called him over to the car and we spoke for a moment … we talked about the movie, because it was out already,” said Oyewole.
Coming from a family of progressive social activists seemingly played a major role in shaping the aspiring artist’s mindset.
“[Stepfather] Mutulu Shakur had a great relationship with and a profound influence on, Tupac,” indicated Barron. “I remember visiting Tupac in prison, and he was saying that he would be helping us once he got out.”
Oyewole said, “He was a poet before he was a rap artist. He had a sensitivity about his people … and that’s the first sign of any great writer or poet. A lot of people even surmise that he possibly could’ve been taken out because of the unity that could have taken place had he focused on that. I think that he was beginning to take responsibility, because he knew the power that he had.”
Barron recalled, “He always had this notion that he was going to die young. One of the saddest moments in my life is when I heard the news that Tupac had died.”
Oyewole said, “Looking back, I wish I had been in a situation where I could’ve said to him, ‘Why don’t you come on over to the house and let’s work on something together?’ … because I think he really could’ve used some of my guidance.”
The Harlem native’s legacy has grown to mythological proportions, so much so that “many of my students insisted that Tupac was still alive,” Oyewole said. “And I’d say, ‘You know what? He is still alive … he’s alive in your heart, and as long as someone comes along to the planet and has so much of an impact, and impresses you so much that you can’t imagine him leaving, then that’s a good thing. Use that energy, use that spirit to uplift yourself. Be that rose coming out of the concrete … go ahead and blossom in spite of the obstacles. The only way we can prove how much we care about anybody is how we carry on their legacy in our lives.”